


Minty Fresh

by Rivela



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Anal Sex, Christmas fic, Established Relationship, Inappropriate use of Candy Canes, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Slice of Life, Smut, Somewhat kayfabe compliant, bottom!Roman, holigays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 14:34:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13389873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivela/pseuds/Rivela
Summary: Dean gets into the holiday spirit and overdoes it... in a good way, much to Roman's chagrin.





	Minty Fresh

**Author's Note:**

> Happy very belated holigays. This idea is a year old and I finally got down to it before Christmas, but a cold and lack of time (then struggling inspiration...) got in the way.

Last year seemed like the ultimate test, with the brand split forcing them to definitely go separate ways, it became a breaking point of sorts. Reevaluating things from a safe and healthy distance, however, let Dean realize there was more on the line than what met the eye. And, from the build up of last year’s Survivor Series, things fell into place on their own, unfolding bit by bit to where they were now: together, all over each other, tighter than ever.

Dean still reminisces how he avoided Roman like the plague, and the awkward way Roman navigated through that, handling the rejection like a gentleman. Funny enough, he found out soon after they made it official with a make out session, Roman was quick to throw chivalry out of the window as soon as things got hot and heavy. It is one of the many pleasant surprises that came along with bedding Roman Reigns, who apparently is the perfect balance of sugar and spice, and he smirks to himself at that thought.

“What’re you smiling ‘bout?” Roman asks, lazily nuzzling against Dean’s neck and curling on him under the covers.

“Nothin’, just...” He pauses, smile widening enough to show his dimples, because, yeah, he has opened himself more and learned how to be vulnerable with Roman, but still the sappy shit isn’t his cup of tea. “Jus’ thinkin’ you haven’t made up for my lost time, y’ know. I waited for you to make a move and all ‘at.”

“What?” Roman snorts against his skin, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down Dean’s spine. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You heard me.” Dean says. 

They both giggle, but silence reigns after, and Dean licks his lips, grazes one of Roman’s legs with his own, electricity running through his body as tension rises between them; a peculiar game of seduction where the goal is to tease, incite the other to surrender and make the first move.

Roman seems to catch on, his face deeper in the crook of Dean’s neck, mouthing soft kisses here and there as he speaks. “And how exactly would I make up for your time?” 

The feel of Roman’s hand on his chest sets ablaze a swirly trail, drawn in idle loopy movements that skate the edge of innocent touching and provocation. Dean swallows hard and sucks in a gasp when Roman shifts next to him, kind of pressing more of his body into contact with Dean’s. 

With their hectic schedules, the chance for intimacy is minimal, let alone traveling with another person or a group of people─although they don’t have to worry much about Seth in that aspect─, but, somehow, it works for them. 

Once a show is over, whether it’s a taping or a live event, they rush in and out of changing rooms, scurrying through hallways and into their rental to head wherever they need to be, that’s how it is. And, in the rush of their work lives, there are a few stretches of road and brief frames of time that grant decent bliss. Sometimes food is their main concern, Dean craving fries and a shake or maybe Roman getting a little too hungry late at night; often they just want to get to the hotel and rest, legs entwined as they seek each other for comfort after a long day. But, then, there are times when they both can’t wait to be alone, and they struggle not to tumble into each other’s arms and give in to the urgent wish of loving with everything they got... and, lately, that happens a lot.

Almost every night their bodies meld together, and they are reduced to a fervent hunger, exploring each other before becoming undone, taking and giving everything they can. It’s addictive ─for both of them, Dean assumes─, and tonight he doesn’t have it in him to play, to wait until the push and pull of temptation entices either of them to take the lead; so he swiftly rolls over and pins Roman against the mattress with the weight of his body.

Roman smiles, his legs spreading enough to fit Dean between them, and arches a brow, amused at the way Dean looks at him.

“I take you got something in mind already?”

Nothing is said, the words hang between them for a few moments, and Dean dips his head to bite Roman’s bottom lip, pulling hard on it with his teeth. The pained groan it elicits delights Dean and he presses a kiss on Roman’s mouth, it’s rough and far from graceful at the beginning, just their lips squished together; but, as he continues to roll his hips, Roman throws his arms around his neck and opens his mouth, their kiss growing sloppy and more passionate.

“You could say so.” Dean murmurs out of breath, leaning his forehead on Roman’s.

Their eyes center on one another and Dean can feel every move beneath him, the way Roman’s legs tense and how he arches his back seeking Dean’s heat. It feeds his lust, the way they rub against each other, and he’s never been the one to stop and give things a thought, at least not when he has Roman below him, ready for whatever.

“I know that look,” Roman says, half chuckling, not letting down on the cadence of his own body. He looks down between their bodies and then up again at Dean’s eyes. 

“What look?”

“That look,” Roman repeats nodding towards Dean.

“I can’t exactly see my face, y’know.”

Roman chuckles one more time. His hands go from the back of Dean’s neck to his shoulders and slither on his frame, palms pressing and groping on the firm muscle underneath, and they slip under the hem of his shirt. “The look you have when you’re about to do something.” Roman’s fingers splay on the sinewy extension of his stomach and travel up to his chest, only stopping to tease and pinch his nipples. “Something very Dean.”

“Well...” Dean gasps, his head now bowed on Roman’s shoulder. It’s his turn to laugh, “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

He nips a path starting on Roman’s collarbone, takes his time on the neck, because he knows how sensitive Roman is there, and all the way to his ear where he isn’t shy to lick and nibble.

“I was thinkin’ ‘bout maybe getting a lil festive with you,” he resumes, “but I don’t know if  _ The Big Dog _ is kinky enough.”

“Fuck...” Roman draws in a sharp breath and cranes his head away from Dean, giving him more room for his ministrations.

Taking the hint, Dean goes again for Roman’s neck, this time sucking with force, biting down hard enough to make Roman grunt and cling to him. There will be marks tomorrow, but Dean isn’t the kind to stop and consider the consequences of this sort of thing; he’ll be proud when he sees the bruises in the morning, tongue sticking out cheekily as Roman nags him about it.

“What do you say, Big Dog? Gonna let me get in the holiday spirit with ya?”

It’s a hot whisper that has Roman vibrating to his very core. Dean can feel how turned on he is through the one thin layer of clothes that is still in between them, and, he’s so sure that Roman will say yes, he can already savor it.

“The fuck are you thinking of, Ambrose?” 

Roman shoots him a skeptical glance, although his lips curve with a cocky, knowing smirk; and Dean wastes no time in pulling Roman’s hands out of his shirt, holding them together by the wrists above his head.

“Jus’ say yes or no, Big Dog.” He growls playful.

It takes Roman a moment to say yes, his eyes fixed on Dean’s face, blue eyes gleaming with mischief and a shit eating grin blooming from those thin lips. It’s more than obvious Dean is up to no good, as usual, and Roman shakes his head, smiling in defeat, when Dean lets go and gets up from the bed. He gets up too, sitting at the edge of the bed.

“We’re gonna play a game,” Dean explains crouching to rummage one of his bags, “it’s called ‘Obey Dean’, and the only rule is that you have to do everything I say.”

“Oh, my God.” Roman snorts, which earns him being thrown clothes out of Dean’s duffel.

“Okay, two rules. You do everything I say and you don’t fucking laugh at me.”

The playful retort makes Roman raise his hands in surrender, laughing nonetheless. “Okay, okay. I get it. Anything else I should know about this game?”

Dean cheers, piquing Roman’s interest further, and, when he turns around, there’s a bag of peppermint candy canes in his hands. “All that pretty head of yours gotta worry about is havin’ a good time.” He winks. 

“What the fuck, man.”

“What? You said you’d let me get festive with you.”

Roman’s eyes shift from Dean to the bag of candy and back, torn between shuffling to the farther edge of the bed away from Dean or humoring him. Something tells him Dean plans to  _ spice _ it up... literally, and, quite frankly, he’s face-palming himself in the inside for not seeing it coming. Dean is, probably always will be, full of surprises.

“C’mon! It’ll be fun!”

And Roman glances up, considering his options ─as if there are many, but he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at Dean, a tad incredulous even when he shouldn’t be.

“I promise to lick you clean afterwards.” Dean promises, growing impatient.

“Oh, so you do plan to put those inside of me.” Roman derides faking shock; he, however, points a finger at Dean for emphasis. “Deal. You can’t take it back now.” 

The way Dean beams, smiling wide while he rips the candy bag open, makes Roman think of a kid who’s gotten a gift they didn’t expect to actually get, and his heart skips a beat at that. Roman can’t deny his ever growing love for him..., although he could deal better without Dean’s ability to kick a notch up in the unexpected turn of events department. 

It doesn’t really matter, though, Roman is willing to do a lot of things for Dean, and this is one of them, so he stands up and strips unceremoniously.

“I didn’t tell you to take it off.” Dean says in mocking disappointment. 

Roman chuckles and licks his lips. He knows that tone, the condescending one Dean uses when he’s being an asshole, and Roman doesn’t have to wait long for Dean to play the part. He is spun around and pushed back in bed. It is too sudden, barely the blink of an eye, and Roman scrambles in the middle of the bed turning his body around.

“Get comfortable, sweetheart.” A handful of candy canes are thrown on the bed, a couple landing on Roman’s thigh and chest to then fall on the crumpled sheets. “We’re gonna have fun.”

Dean crawls in bed, kneeling by Roman’s feet. Neither say anything, and Dean grabs Roman’s ankles tight enough his knuckles turn white.

“Ready, Big Dog?” He asks, pulling on Roman hard enough he manages to have Roman’s back against his belly.

“Shit!” Roman laughs, holding on to Dean’s thighs. “You could have told me what you wanted to do. Or warn me.”

“That’s no fun.” Dean snickers spreading Roman’s legs and leaning forward.

Roman has all the intention to say something else, but a moan comes out of his mouth when he tries to speak. Dean is already licking him, face buried in the cleft of Roman’s ass, driving him into a lust driven haze. And Roman abandons himself to the pleasure, enjoying Dean’s wet tongue circling around him and licking across without yet prying him open.

“Uh-uh.” Dean hums, stopping Roman from touching his half hard cock.

A long whine draws out of Roman’s breath, complaining about not being allowed to touch himself, at the same time he rocks his body lightly, seeking more of the wet piece of work that is Dean’s tongue. 

“Oh, fuck!” He sighs, one of his hands reaching up to grab Dean’s hair and yank him against him hard in a crude attempt to get him to do more.

Dean pulls away, however, and Roman hears him chuckle. “Growing impatient, aren’t we?”

The plastic wrap from one of the candy canes crinkles, Dean peeling it off the best he can with his teeth, and Roman covers his face with his forearm because, as hot as all this is, he isn’t ready and doesn’t know what to expect.

“Hey, relax.” Dean coos. “We can stop if you want to.”

“It’s okay. I’m just-” 

“You don’t have to explain, Ro. If it feels wrong...”

“No, it’s okay.” Roman shudders when Dean’s hands caress comforting circles on the back of his thighs. “’M just nervous, I guess.”

“Oh. ‘S just gonn’ be a lil’ sticky and tingly, I hope.” He says with his usual nonchalance, and Roman has another shudder jolting him out of his skin before he can quip to that.

Dean works him open, lapping at his rim and wiggling the cusp of his tongue into it. He does so with the utmost care and diligence, until the crack of Roman’s ass is soaking, and it is then Roman feels the push and tingle of the candy inside him, it’s not exactly uncomfortable, but it takes him a few moments to adjust to it.

The soft sting of the peppermint displace any of Roman’s apprehensions and soon he’s cursing in bouts, stifled only by Dean either jerking him off rough and fast or replacing the candy cane with his tongue to lick him clean as promised.

“You’re a fucking freak,” Roman calls out panting. 

“I can stop if you want...” 

The offer goes with the exact opposite action, Dean licking Roman so sloppy the candy slips in and out of him nice and easy, deep enough to draw out small groans of pleasure that do nothing but egg Dean to continue and do more, faster; anything he can to drive Roman to the edge.

And it builds up, Roman getting light headed with the sensations while his body strains with pleasure, burning for sweet release. “Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit...”

“Just say the word, Big Dog, and I’ll stop.” Dean teases.

But Roman knows better, even with the imminent wave of climax threatening to wash over him and tip him to spill everything he’s worth, he can’t let Dean get away with it just like that. He simply can’t. 

He clutches Dean’s hair and headscissors him to bed in an awkward and clumsy motion, slamming Dean against the mattress. Both of them squiggle to hold each other down, and it’s Roman who wins, straddled on top of Dean, quirking an eyebrow and looking smug as he always does when things go his way.

“You wanna play, baby boy?” Roman grabs the candy cane from Dean’s hand and throws it away, off the bed, grabbing a new, still wrapped one. “We’ll play, then.”

Dean laughs all the while, struggling and trying to roll so he can switch their position, but Roman presses his weight down and squeezes Dean’s body with his thighs. It’s anything except sexy as far as Dean’s concerned, disappointed about having his delectable triumph snatched away in favor of roughhousing... That is when Roman tosses the wrapper to the side and bites off a piece of the candy before feeding Dean the rest.

Suddenly it dawns on Dean, Roman is still naked, hard on hot and throbbing, and his body heats up all the way to his ears.

“Well, you coulda told me you wanted to ride me.” Dean says casually with a lopsided smirk, letting go of the peppermint cane Roman is holding out for him.

His smile disappears almost immediately with the way Roman looks at him, and he licks his bottom lip rolling his hips upwards. Roman radiates raw desire and Dean wants to oblige to whatever he wants, although he limits to seeing only... for now.

Roman’s eyes stay on Dean’s as he begins to pull on his sweatpants, and, when he’s done, he slithers down Dean’s body without missing the chance to rub his own cock against him any way he can. Every move is calculated and precise, meant to test Dean, who’s already squirming a bit while Roman frees his cock from his underwear.

“You can tell me to stop,” he mocks snickering up to Dean, maneuvering his clothes down his legs, candy still in hand.

It’s cumbersome without doubt, but Roman makes it look easy, and Dean shifts and leverages himself as Roman needs; so, when it’s done, Roman bites off another piece of the peppermint cane and lunges his head down without any ado, mouth wrapping around the tip of Dean’s cock.

Dean’s hips jostle up in reaction and he throws his back for a moment. “Fuck!” 

He regains composure, though, enough to hold himself up on his elbows and admire the work of art that is Roman bobbing his head up and down, stopping only to suck and lick. Dean can also feel the candy, pushed against his sensitive skin by Roman’s tongue, and the minty twinge of it balloons the more Roman does it.

The temptation to reach out and drive Roman down on his cock, guiding the pace to chase after his release, is too great; and Dean can’t resist letting an opportunity like this pass. His hand nests into Roman’s thick mane, his fingers curling into as much hair they can grab and Dean leads Roman’s at the same time he thrusts up into his throat. It makes his eyes roll back, the thrill of lust overriding all of his senses to the point pleasure pulses bigger and bigger inside him.

“Keep going, baby,” he grits, “I’m so close. So fucking close.”

And, the exact moment Dean is about to come, Roman moves away, too sudden and rash to give Dean’s body a chance to register it. His release dribbles out of him, weak and unsatisfactory, and his cock throbs as if he has reached orgasm, although it doesn’t feel like it.

“Shit! Shit! What did you do?!” Dean whines frustrated.

“You wanted to play,” Roman repeats. “I just played with you a little, baby boy.” 

“This is fucked up, man.”

Dean plops back in defeat and Roman crawls the way up his body, predatory and hungry, settling on top of him again. “I thought we were getting a lil festive here.”

“ _ I _ was getting festive with you, Big Dog. You had no business ruining my fun.”

“Did I?” Roman derides, and he wriggles his ass slightly on Dean’s flushed cock to emphasize.

Dean groans, head digging into the mattress and back arching. “You’re an asshole, y’know that?”

Roman plants his hands on each side of Dean’s head and dips for a kiss. A careless, lewd one; all tongue and ragged breathing, and it unleashes a new surge of want. 

Dean’s hands roam everywhere, touching all over Roman’s body like his life depends on it. He scratches down on Roman’s back, grabbing at his ass with possessive force.

“D-Dean,” Roman grunts, unwilling to part or pause, each and every noise they make muted in the disarray of their making out. “Dean, the lube...” He manages to breathe.

Dean stretches his arms, fumbling around blindly, searching through the crumpled sheets. “Fuck! I think- I think it’s in my bag.” 

Roman sighs in defeat. He points a finger at Dean’s face, almost too close to his nose, “Don’t fucking move.”

And he gets to the task, a little too antsy because lubrication is the last thing he would like to worry about just before getting dicked down. Roman knows Dean wouldn’t exactly mind going with the time old resource of spit, but he rather do things right for the sake of his own ass.

It doesn’t take him much to find the lube, and he isn’t surprised to see Dean stroking himself when he turns around and walks back in bed. Roman couldn’t care less actually, and he squirts an obscene amount on Dean’s dick before straddling him once more.

“Consider this,” he says adjusting himself to take Dean in, “your Christmas gift.”

“Then better let me fucking enjoy it.” Dean shoots back swatting Roman’s hands out of the way. “’S not always I get to give the Big Dog a ride.”

Dean pours more lube on his hand and, without ceremony, spreads Roman open, his wet fingers fondling Roman’s most intimate spot. He doesn’t rush in prepping Roman, although there’s nothing slow about the way he fingers him; first one, then two and he’s hesitant about adding a third since there’s this cheeky sense of accomplishment and pride on having Roman on top of him, eyes closed and rocking his hips. It’s a sight to behold for many different reasons, and, this being his gift, it puts Dean in the difficult spot of wanting Roman to ride him to oblivion fast and hard, while also wanting to make it last as much as possible.

“Just fucking do it.” Roman whispers, voice low and a husky with lust.

Nodding, Dean swallows hard, he’s too sensitive still and yet there’s an itch underneath his skin unlike any other he has felt before. It’s different than the always undying necessity of belonging to Roman, it’s more imperative and animalistic, wishing to brand and etch himself to Roman all the way inside his body.

“Fucking do it.” 

It skates the line of begging, but the bass of Roman’s voice makes it sound like a rushed order, and Dean can’t deny he loves to be told what to do sometimes. So he thrusts upwards at the same time he pulls Roman down by the hips.

The choked sound of pleasure and the slippery warmth of Roman’s body give Dean one of the biggest satisfactions he’s ever experienced. He’s entranced, to say the least, when Roman takes command and sets the rhythm; his mind clouds, every sense of his taking in everything Roman does.

Soon he’s digging his fingers on the flesh of Roman’s hips and thighs, sometimes pulling him down for kisses and bites, grabbing at his pecs and teasing each sensitive spot he can think of. It’s a haze of pure glory... and it’s not enough. Dean wants more, he needs more.

He tries to speed things up, have Roman bounce on him like mad, his hands like a vice on him guiding up and down, but Roman stops altogether after a few thrusts. 

“I can’t.” He heaves. “I’m gonna come.”

“Then fucking come.” Dean growls, and he rolls his hips relishing on the shuddering mess that Roman becomes. “Fucking come, Ro.”

Their rhythm grows to a hasty slap of skin on skin and it doesn’t take long for Roman to cry out his climax, spilling on Dean’s stomach and chest. But Dean doesn’t stop, he keeps fucking Roman, fueled by the unpleasant swerve of his first orgasm and the hazy exhilaration of it too. He’s nowhere near yet, and he’s determined to drive Roman crazy and enjoy it too. 

The unrelenting snap of Dean’s hips make Roman frown in a delectation beyond his own limits, and Dean flips and manhandles him into whatever position he can hold up to. He barely gets him on all fours, makes him lay on his side, has Roman ride him backwards. 

In the end, Dean settles between his legs, holding them apart by the ankles, open wide and exposed; he isn’t done admiring the beauty that is Roman undone beyond recognition: mussy hair, blushed cheeks, mouth agape in agitation, too fucked out of his mind to even care about anything.

“You ready, Big Dog?” He asks, although he doesn’t expect an answer. He doesn’t really need it.

“Jesus. Just fucking come already.” Roman croaks exhausted, however, and Dean smiles full of mischievousness.

“Don’t rush me. This is my present, right?”

Roman opens his mouth to say something, but whatever he was about to say dies in a sharp gasp. Dean moves, starts slow and steady, aiming to stretch this twisted rapture for longer; he gets deep in with strong thrusts, drawing out unhurriedly to have Roman feel all of him, then again and again and again, until he’s speeding in a race that has Roman coming dry.

Grabbing his own hair, back curving off the bed as his legs tense and his toes curl, Roman moans Dean’s name for the world to hear in an ecstatic crescendo.

“Shit, yeah...” Dean grunts, “Lose it, baby. Come on my dick.”

It’s too delectable for Dean to take: Roman overwhelmed in pleasure, the hot and sweet squeeze of his body, the keen sounds of his orgasm... It sends Dean off, leaning forward to crash his lips against Roman’s in a kiss that is merely their mouths squished together.

“Fuck...!” He sighs winded out, resting his forehead on Roman’s, and he rides last fuzzy shocks of delight rocking slowly into Roman. “Fuck, th-this ‘s some next level shit, Big Dog.”

Roman huffs a small chuckle. “Yeah, well, don’t get too used to it.”

“Aw, I was hoping we could do a second round in the shower.” Dean says, pulling out as gentle as his exertion allows him, and both of them hiss when their bodies split away from each other.

“There’s no second round tonight... or tomorrow morning.”

They laugh, and Dean snuggles closer to Roman, basking in the gratifying view of Roman fucking Reigns sated and worn out, because it’s so beautiful and Dean can’t help but stare and take it in, the image forever burnt in his mind with zealous adoration. 

“I don’t wanna move,” Roman slurs, his eyes so heavy lidded it looks like he’s about to close them and sleep.

“Then don’t.”

“I gotta shower.” He replies, grunting all the while he leaves the toasty solace of their bed.

And Dean can’t be bothered to follow him, he merely watches Roman leave and, as he does, Dean sees the clear dribble of his own come running down Roman’s thigh.

“Oh, shit! We forgot about the condom!”

Roman turns to him at the door frame rolling his eyes. “You think?!”

“I’m still good on my word,” Dean snickers, “I’ll lick ya clean.”

“In your dreams. I don’t want you near my ass ‘til further notice.”


End file.
